The Kamp Kit

That thing your mom gave you, that thing you took to summer camp with you, that thing your brother stole from you, that thing you found hiding behind a pile of rubber Smurfs and plastic wind-up jumping frog figurines underneath the bathroom sink which you shared with your brother, that thing you dusted off and carried with you to college, that thing you stuffed in a backpack when you lived on trains in England and Ireland for a year, that thing you took to your first apartment in New York, that thing that always came with you when you left town, that thing your girlfriend laughed at because it looks like it came out of a Caboodle, that thing you called on when you just needed a place to put your toothbrush and a stick of deodorant, that thing which saw you through that really tough time when you were barely making ends meet and your Caboodle-loving girlfriend had dumped you, that thing that was there for you in good times, too, in great times like that week-long camping trip you took to the Gunks when you forgot that thing in a port-o-potty but your friends, understanding your inexplicable connection to that thing turned around and drove the hour back so that you could retrieve that thing, that thing, that favorite thing of yours which broke or tore or somehow failed you in a critical moment, for the final time and though you’d rigged it, repaired it, duct-taped it, done everything you could to it, you finally determined it’s time to say “goodbye” to that thing.

Well that happened to me.

The Dopp kit, the toiletry bag, the medicine kit, whatever your grandfather or father or mother or brother or sister calls it, that thing I put my bathroom stuff in when I travel, that thing broke. And I was sad, because before it broke, it was perfect. It was the perfect size: not so big that it took up a lot of space in my suitcase, and not so small that I had to hold my breath while I shoved my travel-sized tube of toothpaste into it. It was the perfect color, too. Royal blue with yellow trim and a bright yellow zipper. That thing stood out in a crowd. And nobody wanted to steal it.

Determined to replace it with something similar, if not a little better, I sought the help of my friends Tanya and Roy, bagmakers extraordinaire at Winter Session (you may recall I made a tote with them), who immediately went to work making something better than I could’ve imagined.

This thing is sturdy. This thing is a tank. Heavyweight cotton canvas on the outside, lightweight waxed canvas on the inside, tied together with a vintage brass zipper from The United States’ very own Talon zippers, and topped off with a cherry of a vegetable-tanned leather patch, it ain’t breakin’ down any time soon. Though, I do worry about it passing the weight requirement at the airport. Of course I’m speaking in hyperbole.